Script: Letter to My Dearest

A Letter to My Dearest
By Smutomancer



My Dearest Markus,

How I long to hear your voice whisper into my ear those sweet words I have read in your letters, time and time again. The parchment is worn thin from the ceaseless attentions of my fingers tracing your pen for hours at a time.
So long I have been without your touch that my heart aches to but see your name lying there alone at the bottom of the page. Your black script is awash with red from the thousands of kisses I have given to it.

In the night I pray to God above for your safe return as I weep for fear of your safety. How much longer shall I wait here, alone? Hang this dreadful business that takes you from me and damn those that started it.
Oh, but you must forgive my anger for it is born of love for you. I keep your letters against my breast night and day, the crackling of the parchment ever reminding me of you.

Know, my beloved love, that I have kept faith with you always. To the letter of your letter I have followed your instructions diligently.
A dozen times before bed and a dozen more as I awake I trace your name into my skin with fingers tingling to touch you once again. Lower and lower I go until my silken sheets stain with the juices I twiddle from between my lips that you kiss with such rigor and passion.
Then I take those fingers into my mouth and suck them clean, one by one, the taste of my own body a pale imitation of the heated love you pour into me from both ends whenever we meet.

Beloved mine, but even now I feel the tingle in my nethers as I think of the way you took me with such force the day you left. We could have filled a bucket with the cum you pumped between my legs and upon my back and into my mouth and, oh, yes, twix those cheeks you love to slap and up to my stomach.
No man in all the world can match the quantity of your love, nor rival its taste. My mouth waters for it, dearest mine. To feel your girth fill my mouth again, oh, but I swoon!

The milkman has nowhere near your capacity to be milked. In your name I take him twice a week as you asked, each time he makes a delivery, to remind me that no real man is he compared to you.
And although the boy that delivers my morning paper has a shout that can be heard up and down the street, his tongue between my moisten lips is a far cry from the skills you sport.
Why, once I had them both at once and hardly neared the ecstasy your bring to me with your touch and massive cock.

Do the whores you fuck while away squirm when you shove that monster into their turgid flesh?  Do you make them cry out your name, as I do, when you sodomize them in a single rapid thrust? I was alight with pride when, in your last letter, you recounted how the slut you took only hours before declined payment in thanks of the thrill you have her.
I only hope she managed to keep my beloved sated while he waits for MY attentions.
Oh, but the things I shall do to you upon your return. I will take you in ways the Kama Sutra would call blasphemous.
Which reminds me, that toy you ordered finally arrived!
I must confess to weakness, for I had the maid fuck me with it twice the second it came out of the box.
You'll love it, I know.  The way it straps around the waist is ever so clever. Perhaps I can show you a fraction of the joy you give me each time you take me from behind.
It is far better than a tongue, and I know how much you love that.
Tonight I plan on using it on the butler. I think he expects it. You should see the nervous look in his eye! I'll be gentle, though, unlike that time you took him. Remember how he walked the next day? It was like you were still inside him!

Alas, my candle wanes and the paper fills.
I shall send this letter in the morning, after my daily tracing ritual.
Do you think the postman would deliver a mouth to suck you off if I showed him how it's done?
I will have to try it!

Yours Truly,
Julia